


Together at the start of time

by turntechDestiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost exclusively Stiles and Lydia, Angst, But the other guys are there too, Eventual Stydia, F/M, Probably gonna be real sad, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntechDestiel/pseuds/turntechDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if evil Japanese fox spirits and dead friends wasn't enough, some guy just had to come along and announce the beginning of the end of the world and tell them that they are fated.</p>
<p>Or the one where Ragnarok turns out to be a real thing and Stiles and Lydia have trouble escaping their fates. Set after 3b, and Stiles feels more than just guilty about the nogitsune's actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fated

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Stydia fic. It's all a bit jumbled up, and the plot will probably be a bit here and there, but basically it's gonna be sad and slow. This first chapter is basically just to set the foundation, you can expect better content later on.

She didn't know how one word could haunt her very being to such an extent. She didn't understand, after all the tragedy she had suffered, that a word that felt so old was the one that plagued her dreams the most. Bad dreams did seem to be included with the premium banshee package, but those dreams were different. Felt different. She'd often dream about her best friend dying. Sometimes, she would dream about everyone dying. Not just her friends. Everyone. But more times than not, she would dream about that word. A word spoken by a man who knew more than anyone probably understood. A word she felt she had been familiar with for years, but only known for a while. Tethers.  
That night was almost the same, save for the fact that this one seemed like a compilation of old horrors, and horrors that had yet to arrive. Images of Allison dying. Aiden, lifeless in his brother's arms. A boy she felt like she'd known her entire life, consumed by an entity older than anything else she'd ever seen. A darkness she could not comprehend. And then, water. Bright, green eyes, and a world covered in water. She saw the silhouttes of two people, standing with the water up their ankles, and for some reason she knew that underneath the water, and the rubble, and the dust of a world once her home, were the bodies of more people than she would ever dare to count. And then, that word. Like a migraine, or a soft whisper in the back of her mind. Tethers. But for the first time ever, another word arose. Fated.

  
Lydia awoke when her phone went off right next to her ear. Judging by the ringtone, she knew it wasn't her alarm, but rather an incoming call. Without opening her eyes, she grabbed the phone off of the nighstand, swiped it open and put the phone to her ear, simply answering it with an unsatisfied groan.  
"Hey, Lydia." the voice practically stuttered out on the other end, and Lydia let out a sigh not filled with annoyance, but something else entirely.

  
"Hello, Stiles." She tried to speak softly, lightly, as if the morning was beautiful and she just wanted to say hello to the entire world. As if she hadn't been dreaming about a word apparently meant for the two of them, and other things she didn't even have the capacity to think of at the moment. As if she didn't know exactly why Stiles was calling.

  
"You get up okay?" Stiles asked, and Lydia didn't know if she should smile or cry. If she should slap the boy on the other end of the call, or try to convince him that everything was going to be okay. "Just checking in to make sure you get to school on time and all that."

  
"Stiles," Lydia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, talking casually but obviously tired, "You don't have to call every morning. I can get up on my own. If anyone needs help getting up, it's Scott."

  
"I've called Scott, too." Stiles quickly quipped, and of course, Lydia thought. Of course he called Scott too.

  
"What about you, Stiles? Did you get up okay? Did you get up at all?" Lydia asked, and she tried not too sound too sincere when she asked. She tried to sound annoyed, or sarcastic, or anything that would assure Stiles that things were the same between them and that he didn't have to tip-toe around everyone's feelings, constantly trying to make sure that they were doing okay.

  
"Me? Yeah. Yeah, I woke up a few minutes ago." He replied, but Lydia thought he sounded a bit too awake to just have woken up. She heard a voice, mumbling on the other end. "As a matter of fact, Malia, yes. Yes, we have to get up right now. It's 7:30. Hey, sorry, Lydia. I'll see you in school, okay?" He hung up, and Lydia bit her lip softly. It there was one thing she wasn't going to get used to, it was Stiles Stilinski with a girlfriend on his arm. And in his bed, for that matter. But he deserved it. Maybe even needed it.

  
The truth was that now, barely a month after the nogitsune, Stiles was still so filled with guilt that everyone in the pack were sure he was going to implode on himself sooner or later. So guilt-ridden, in fact, that he'd call both Scott and Lydia every morning to check in. To make sure they were okay. To make sure that they weren't in anguish over their dead friend slash ex-girlfriend, who was dead because of him. Lydia knew that that was what he felt. That he had killed Allison. And Lydia wished she could tell him that she didn't blame him, not even for a second, that to her he was still the kindest person in the world, but she knew there was no point. She knew he wouldn't believe her.

  
Lydia didn't know if she'd ever admit to how much pain she was in over Stiles. She didn't know if she'd ever say out loud how much her heart ached for the boy who deserved the world but believed he didn't deserve anything at all. Because Lydia knew Stiles. One look at the boy, and she would know everything inside his head. Yet still, he thought it a good idea to try and lie to her.

  
Time and time again, he would lie to her. He did the same when she got to school that morning. She saw him by his locker as soon as she entered the hallway, standing there next to Scott, both talking casually. Lydia started walking towards them, brushing her hands over the hem of her flowery skirt as she approached them. Scott noticed her, recognizing the sound of her footsteps even when she wasn't wearing heels. As Scott turned to face her, so did Stiles, and Lydia's face changed from casual to disapproving in a fracture of a second. Her eyes were fixed directly on Stiles, who suddenly looked a bit scared. Scott noticed it immediately.

  
"I'll, uh, see you in class, Stiles." He said awkwardly, knowing perfectly well that he should leave the two to themselves. He scurried off to class whilst Lydia simply crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at the boy who could tell just from her look that he had done something wrong.

  
"Uh, hi, Lydia." He said, dragging out his words as if hoping he'd find out what he'd done just by talking.

  
"Woke up a few minutes ago, huh?" She mused, referring to their conversation on the phone just 45 minutes back.  
Stiles didn't say anything to begin with. He let out a little sigh, scratching at the back of his head.

"Lydia." He started, but Lydia wasn't just about to let him finish that sentence which was so clearly meant to be in his own defense.

"No, Stilinski, don't you 'Lydia' me." She lectured, stepping closer to him so she was looking straight up into his eyes. "Look at you, Stiles, you haven't slept a wink!"

"Wha- How could you even know that?"

"Just because your oblivious little girlfriend won't notice, doesn't mean I don't." She said, shaking her head in dismay. "You can't keep these things to yourself, Stiles."

"Lydia, my sleeping problems aren't exactly important right now." Stiles groaned, an almost desperate look on his face as he spoke. It didn't do much but earn him a harsh jab to the chest from Lydia's finger.

"Don't you dare say your problems aren't important." It was obvious that she was having a hard time seeming strict about it, when in all honesty it was one of the most sincere things she could have ever said. Slowly, she thought, she might be able to convince Stiles that everything was going to be okay. It would take time, but she was going to make it happen. "Does Malia hog your pillow, or something?"

"Oh, my god, Lydia." Stiles groaned, tossing his hands in the air and looking around to make sure no one had actually heard Lydia Martin mention his special pillow in the middle of a crowded hallway. "Can you just... I mean... I told you once! One time! Don't bring it up!" He hissed as he curled his fingers in front of his face, wishing to all the gods that he could emphasize this enough for Lydia to actually catch on.

"Right. No pillow-talk. Got it." She said with a sly little pull of her lips before taking off for her class. Stiles was left standing in the hallway, dumbfounded beyond belief.  
Lydia wondered, that day as she sat through 90 minutes of AP calc, if her and Stiles being tethers was the reason behind her weird connection with him. If the fact that they were somehow connected caused these impromptu avalanches of emotions that Lydia would sometimes experience. She wouldn't believe for a second that the aching pain in her chest during AP calc was anything even remotely close to a coincidence. Without doubt, she thought, Stiles was in pain. She wasn't exactly certain when she got so used to the supernatural that she so firmly could believe that she could feel another person's pain. But on some level, Lydia had felt the darkness that subsided inside of Stiles after the nogitsune was gone. Almost as if it had left a scar in his soul that wasn't ever going to heal. Lydia kept wondering, until she mentally slapped herself for spending so much time thinking about Stiles freakin' Stilinski.

  
It was when she went into the schoolyard for lunch that she realized something about Malia. When she approached her pack's table, seeing them all seated there, she saw Malia's face. How she looked at Stiles. How she smiled at Stiles. She realized, then and there, that Malia had no idea. Stiles' girlfriend had no idea that Stiles was in pain. If she knew Stiles right, he didn't want her to know. And judging by the look on Scott's face as he watched them, he had noticed the same thing.

"I swear to god, this math shit will be the end of me." Was the first thing Lydia said as she arrived at the table, the obvious source being Malia.

"Not if you actually try to use the tutoring I've given you." Lydia butted in, a superior looking smile on her face as she sat down. She did her best not to make a point out of the fact that she caught Stiles staring intensely at his hands for a few moments after she'd arrived. "You can't just listen to me talk and hope that it magically makes you better at math."

"Well, why can't it just be that way?" Malia asked, looking genuinely distressed. Scott chuckled from across the table, earning a little grin from Kira too. Kira smiled at everything Scott did. Lydia found it adorable.

"Trust me, Malia, I used to feel the same. Math is harsh." Scott said, perching an eyebrow at Stiles who just gave him a disapproving look in return.  
"Don't take me down with you, bro. You're the one who never even tried to do your homework in middle school." He mocked, waving his hands in front of his face as if dismissing all responsibility. Lydia found it nice, seeing Stiles more and more often talk to them with less inhibitions. But the guilt was still there. Buried so deep within that she was afraid no one could ever reach it and yank it out.

"So, Malia, how is it to no longer be the new girl?" Kira asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the were-coyote.

"I don't know yet. The kid didn't look uncomfortable being the new guy at all, which kinda pisses me off." She retorted, giving off an unsatisified shrug.

"What? New kid?" Lydia asked, suddenly looking curious.

"Yeah, he was introduced during history, actually." Scott said, nodding a little as he tried to finish chewing on his lunch. "He was from, uh... Nor... Norwich? Norfolk?"

"Norway." Stiles corrected, an almost monotone sound to his voice. "Yeah, no idea what someone from frickin' Scandinavia would want in Beacon Hills. He's supernatural for sure." He huffed, rolling his eyes a little.

"Well?" Lydia inquired, eyeing all the different members at the table. "Is he handsome?"

"No more shady dudes, don't you think?" Scott asked, an incredulous chuckle escaping him.  
"Watch it, alpha-boy." Lydia snapped, an obvious joking tone to her voice. "You don't own this." She continued, motioning towards her body with her hands. The truth was that she wasn't interested at all. Not a single part of her felt the urge to go find herself another hunk anytime soon. Enough distractions, she thought. But still, she felt almost obligated to maintain a certain image of normalcy around the pack. As if maybe that was the only way for them to heal. But really, they were all just putting on different masks, probably thinking they were the only one hiding their pain away.

  
And of course, Stiles had been right. Lydia had made mental notes along the way to remember that Stiles was almost _always_ right. Even when she didn't want to admit it. But when he'd said that the Scandinavian transfer student had to be shady, he had been absolutely right. So when they found themselves in a bad situation just a week later, Lydia couldn't really find it in her to be surprised.  
It had all started one night, in the middle of one of Stiles' regular phone calls. In all honesty, Lydia didn't understand how he got away with it when it came to Malia. How his girlfriend didn't have anything against him calling up another girl all the time.

"You getting all your homework done?" Stiles asked. It was odd, how much vulnerable he sounded over the phone. As if he didn't bother hiding anymore when no one could see his face.

"Yeah, homework isn't an issue." Lydia said, looking at her nails as she spoke. "I'm more worried about the fact that no one's died the past month. That seems a bit too peaceful, especially when it's Beacon Hills we're talking about."

"Yeah, it does feel sort of weird." Stiles huffed in reply, and just as Lydia was about to say something else, she froze. "I don't know, maybe it's a good thing? I mean, it's not like we need any more pain on our plate or anything, right? Lydia?" It was silent, and Stiles' worry was incredibly audible through the phone. "Lydia, what's up?"

"Stiles." She said, staring directly at the wall with wide eyes. "I spoke too soon."

"What's going on, Lydia? Banshee feelers going off?"

"I think so."

"I'll be right there."

  
And it didn't even take him ten minutes to show up outside her house in his jeep, Malia in the backseat and Scott and Kira right behind on Scott's bike. Lydia rushed into the passenger seat of the jeep, not even bothering to ask why Stiles had put Malia in the backseat. Probably because Lydia was designated GPS of dead things.

"Where to?" Stiles asked, putting a hand on her wrist to try and calm her, seeing as how her breathing was more than just a little erratic.

"I don't know." She uttered.

"Lydia-"

"Stiles, I don't exactly have control of this thing!" Lydia exclaimed, snapping her head in his direction with eyes that were almost pleading, as if hoping that Stiles could be of any help. And for some reason, he was. "Where Allison died. It's where Allison died." She said, and just saying it in front of Stiles pained her in ways she couldn't even describe. But Stiles swallowed his guilt, put the car in gear and took off.

  
And to Lydia's lack of surprise, when they got there, they saw the new boy at school with a body at his feet. Just some random person that none of them had ever seen before. They all jumped out of the vehicle, Stiles immediately getting in front of Lydia with a bat tightly gripped in his hand.

"Ah!" The boy exclaimed with a big smile plastered across his face, his eyes fixed on Lydia. "You got my call." He said, giving the dead body a little kick.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Scott asked, placing himself in front of his pack, letting his eyes glow for a few seconds as if to show the boy what he was himself.

"Well, if you show me yours, I guess I should show you mine." The boy retorted, letting his eyes glow back at Scott. A fierce, emerald green. "I just want to introduce myself. Properly, I mean." The boy was tall, with blonde hair.

"What kind of werewolf are you?" Malia asked, confused about the color of his eyes. She'd already let her claws out, almost itching to tear the guy's throat out.

"Oh, no, I'm no werewolf. That's not important, though. What's important as that you're all gonna die. Well, most of you, anyway." The boy smiled, and long fangs started appearing in his mouth, and as if the anger and pain that had bottled up inside of Scott had just waited for an excuse to come out, he launched himself at the boy. But the boy let out a roar so ferocious it shook them all to their core, and sent them tumbling into the ground. "Ah, yes." The boy said, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked at the result. Everyone was on the ground, clutching at their heads in agony, except for two people. Except for Stiles and Lydia.  
And for some reason unbeknownst to Lydia, she felt as if this entire situation was familiar. As if she'd seen it before.

"Stiles." She said, worry seeping into every letter she enunciated. Stiles simply held out his arm and pulled Lydia behind him, eyes fixed directly on the - well, whatever he was.

"What?" Stiles practically growled, tightening his grip on the bat. "Aren't you gonna get me too? Huh?" Lydia could only see his back, but she could see the way he was shaking. Her heart broke once again for this boy, who wanted so much for this strange boy to attack him just so he didn't have to feel guilty about being the only one left standing. "I don't care what you want with Lydia. You're gonna have to go through me."

"You know, it's actually visible." The boy said, looking at the pair with eyes that portrayed something along the lines of amazement. "I mean, I've heard of tethers before, but..." His eyes glowed once more. "I can literally see yours."  
Stiles, whose anger was just building, ignored everything he said and charged towards him, bat raised high above his head.  
"STOP!" The boy suddenly roared, and Stiles did just that. He stopped, shock in every feature of his face, as he lowered his bat. "It's no use, Stiles. I'm not gonna hurt you, and you're not gonna hurt me. Trust me, it's physically impossible for both of us."

"What do you want?" Stiles' voice was low, but as Lydia walked up behind him, not wanting to leave him alone for a second, she could sense the fear within him.

"Oh, I just wanted to see it with my own eyes. The ones who aren't affected by my roar." He tilted his head slightly, eyes still skimming between the two. He didn't mind the rest of the pack slowly starting to get back up on their legs. Stiles and Lydia just stood there, looking at each other with puzzled expressions before looking back at the boy. On some level, they understood what he was talking about. They didn't know why, they just felt like they knew. "Listen up!" He suddenly yelled, making sure the entire pack was listening. "Ragnarok is coming. And you two," he said, pointing to Stiles and Lydia. "You are the fated ones."  
And then, he was gone before they could so much as blink.


	2. Choices

Ripping open old scars never feels particularly good. Especially not when the scars haven't even had time to become scars yet. Not when the scar is a fresh wound, seeping with guilt and pain and all the things that a human being would rather live without. But the guilt that comes along with being responsible for the death of one of your best friends is not a wound that closes in a few weeks. And in all honesty, Stiles was hoping for a few months of calm waters so that he could catch his breath, but as if evil Japanese fox spirits and dead friends wasn't enough, some guy just had to come along and announce the beginning of the end of the world and tell them that they are fated.

Stiles had no idea what it meant. Fated. It sounded scary and ominous, but wasn't a big surprise to him. In Beacon Hills, things were always scary and ominous. But not knowing something was probably the thing Stiles enjoyed the least in the entire world, and on top of that he was currently being hit by the crushing realization that something bad was about to happen, and again, it was all going to be his fault. So he turned to the one thing he did know; research. He was not going to sleep until he had found everything he possibly could on Ragnarok, and what it meant to be fated. It had been pretty easy for him to convince Scott that he just needed some time to himself that night, considering they'd just been attacked by some incredibly scary wolf-like guy. Convincing Malia had been a bit more difficult, but absolutely doable. Convincing Lydia Martin that he needed to be alone after something like that? Yeah, not happening.

"Lydia." Stiles sighed as they entered his room, Lydia mowing her way towards his bed to sit down, patting down her skirt as she sat. "I'm alright. You should go home, get some sleep. I need to do the same."

"Stiles." Lydia retorted, an odd smile on her face as she spoke. Stiles couldn't properly place what kind of smile it was. "We both know you're going to stay up all night doing research." She took a deep breath, and Stiles could see her lips quivering as she spoke. He wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn't sure she'd want to hear that from him. "Besides, you're not the only one who's scared."

And all of a sudden, Stiles felt like the most selfish douchebag in the entire world. Of course, he thought. He wasn't the only one who'd just been told he was fated. "I'm sorry." He whispered, trying his best to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. He walked over and kneeled in front of Lydia, taking her hand in his and running circles on top of it with his thumb. "Let's figure out what all of this means, okay?" He said softly, cracking her a smile. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Okay, Stiles." Lydia replied, but her voice was barely even a whisper, and it was easy for Stiles to see that she was having trouble composing herself. This was not the time for him to be selfish and wallow in his own problems. He had to be strong for Lydia. He gave her hand a little squeeze before he stood up and walked over to his computer, slumping down in the chair as he turned the machine on. He brought his browser up, and was just about to type something when his fingers stopped a few centimeters over the keyboard.

"Ragnarok." Lydia said from where she was suddenly standing behind Stiles, leaning in next to him over the back of the chair. Stiles nodded shortly, typing in the word as they begun their search. He knew he'd recognized the word, and some of it started to come back to him as he saw that it was connected to Norse mythology. Something he'd definitely heard a bit about, thanks to a certain comic series. And so, they started reading, and they didn't stop until they felt like they knew as much as they possibly could.

Two hours later, Lydia was sat on the edge of Stiles' bed, whilst he sat resigned in his office chair, having it turned towards Lydia. They were both feeling a lot of things, but confusion was definitely on top of the list.

"So, let me get this right..." Stiles huffed, looking at his calendar on the wall that marked today as the 12th of February, 2014. "Ragnarok is said to happen in like, ten days, and-"

"And Ragnarok is the end of the world." Lydia finished for him, looking at him with dull eyes, practically no emotion in her voice as she spoke. "When the so-called world-snake releases its grip on earth, and everything is flooded in water-"

"I don't get it, though." Stiles said, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees, giving Lydia a questioning look. "I mean, it says that Ragnarok will be preceded by three heavy winters. Like, Game of Thrones winters. Like big, and bad, and terrible-"

"Sometimes, only parts of a myth is true. Apparently, the part about the big bad wolf holds up."

"Fenrir." Stiles sighed, remembering the growl of the boy they had clashed with only a few hours before. "Deucalion called himself the destroyer of worlds, but apparently he wasn't aware that Tom Hiddleston's off-spawn was the actual demon wolf-"

"What?"

"Tom Hiddleston? He plays Loki in The Avengers?"

"Right." Lydia huffed. "Loki, the trickster god. Who's apparently the father of a demon wolf and a snake that holds the world together."

"And Hell. He's literally the father of Hell. Shouldn't forget about that part." Stiles added, scratching the back of his head.

"Of course, Stiles. How could I forget?" It was obvious that Lydia had a lot on her mind, but there was one thing that bothered her the most. One thing they were both trying to avoid, though they knew they were going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Lydia decided to get it over with. "I think I had a dream about it."

It took Stiles a few seconds to process what she said, and then suddenly his eyes perked up and he straightened up a bit. "You- what?" He asked, surprise written all over his face. Lydia still looked calm, with that wistful smile on her face, as if she had just given up and tried to give the dying world a smile instead of a pout.

"I dreamt about a world covered in water." She continued, looking down at her hands that were folded almost nervously in her lap. "And it's weird, because being a banshee doesn't mean I can see the future." She was mumbling a bit, and Stiles could tell that it was hard for her to talk about it, so he listened as intently as he was possibly capable of. "But it makes, sense, I guess, because... under the water was..."

"Everyone." Stiles said, swallowing heavily as he looked at Lydia. She looked back up at him, and there were tears in her eyes, and Stiles no longer cared that he felt guilty and that he didn't deserve her friendship, because Lydia Martin was scared and he wouldn't have it. He stood up and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to her so she could lean her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed right in front of her. Stiles grabbed her hand and started drawing lazy circles in her palm with his finger.

"Except for two people." She whispered, blinking so that one lonely tear made its way down her cheek. Stiles, looking down at her hands, dark lines under his eyes somehow more visible now, found it hard to talk.

"The fated ones." He managed to press out, his breath hitching a bit in his throat as he thought of the implications of that title. Of what they'd read about Ragnarok. Stiles never thought the world to be so messed up that the profecy made by vikings, that the world would end, could become a fact. He couldn't even bring himself to say the next thing. That the fated ones, like Fenrir had called it, were the ones to re-populate earth after its destruction. The only ones to survive. Like a butched version of Adam and Eve.

A long and thick silence fell over the both of them, and Stiles didn't know how long they'd sat there. He was having a hard time processing all the things that were happening. The worst part was that he had to tell his pack about all of this. He had to tell his best friend that apparently, he was going to die. He had to tell his girlfriend that he was supposed to re-populate earth with another girl. It was all too messed up for him to even think of without going crazy. He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand being the one who ruined everything. Deep inside, he knew that everything would be so much easier if he hadn't been there. He didn't even understand how Lydia could look him in the eyes anymore. She, more than anyone, must have hated him.

"It sounds kind of nice, doesn't it?" Lydia almost whispered after a long while, bringing Stiles out of his morbid train of thought. He turned his head to look down at Lydia, who was still staring right in front of her, her head resting on Stiles' shoulder. "To start over, I mean."

"Lydia, what are you talking about?" Stiles asked, surprised by how his voice sounded after the long silence. He wished more than anything that Lydia would just meet his eyes, so that maybe he could begin to understand what she was thinking. It was always in her eyes. Lydia could hide a lot of things, but she could never hide what was in her eyes. Not from Stiles.

"You and me. Together, at the start of time. It sounds nice." She said, and Stiles began to wonder if something had snapped inside of her. He ignored the way his heart felt like stopping in his chest, how his body felt after hearing those words escape Lydia's mouth. He ignored it because he couldn't accept her saying something like that.

"Lydia, don't say that." He said, turning a little bit so he could more easily look at her. This forced her head off of his shoulder, and she looked him in the eyes now, finally. "We have to stop this, Lydia. Fenrir, Jormum- whatever the snake is called. Everyone is going to die if we don't stop them. Seven billion people, Lydia, all dead under the water."

"I think I could handle it." Lydia whispered back at him, her eyes looking as if they were searching for something inside of Stiles' eyes. "And maybe being alone would help you get over your guilt-"

"Lydia, what-"

"We all get over it, eventually. I'm going to get over Allison. I could get over everyone else too. But you..." Her words trailed off, eyes sinking down to look at her hands. Stiles grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eyes.

"Don't say those things. Lydia, please, don't ever say those things." He said, and there was no anger in his eyes. No disbelief. Just his heart breaking over the fact that his favorite person in the entire world actually felt these things. "Lydia, being alone with me for the rest of your life would drive you crazy."

"No." She whispered, her lips staying parted as her eyes bore into Stiles'. "I really could get over it. Losing everyone, I'd survive. But you?" She tried again, continuing the sentence that she hadn't been able to finish earlier. "Stiles... oh, Stiles." She said, no longer able to keep the tears away from her eyes. "Stiles, if you died, I would go out of my frickin' mind."

Stiles was actually sure he felt his heart stop in his chest at that point. There was something so very, very familiar about those words, and it crushed him that Lydia felt the need to say it. It also confused him beyond belief, because he could not for the life of him understand how Lydia didn't hate him for the things he'd done. "Lydia, I'm not all that." He said, trying his best to sound stern. "I wish that I was, I really do, but I'm no good. Lydia, I killed Allison."

"No, you didn't!" Lydia yelled, shaking her head back and forth, her hands clasping at Stiles' face, as if holding it in place would make him understand. "Stiles, you need to understand that I don't blame you. I could never blame you."

"How?" Stiles yelled, suddenly standing up, practically ripping at his hair. He had never raised his voice to Lydia before. Not like this. "How could you not blame me?" The pain in his eyes heavily overpowered the anger, and Lydia couldn't stand to look at it anymore, so she stood up and she yelled right back at him.

"Because you're important to me!" She shouted, and Stiles froze completely, in no way prepared for this outburst. "Don't you get that, Stiles? You mean the world to me, and I can't just stand by and watch you tear yourself apart like this!"

"Lydia." He whispered, and even though it wasn't exactly characteristic of him, there were tears welling up in his eyes.

"Oh, Stiles." She whispered, the intensity in her voice having disappeared completely. Before Stiles could even see it coming, she was hugging him. "I love you."

None of them really knew what she meant by it. They didn't know what the implications of those words were, or what meaning she put into it, but she said it, and that was the important part. After a short while, Stiles was hugging her back, trying with every bone in his body to hold back the sobs that were about to escape him. Lydia pressed her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowly but surely started to become more steady.

"You're right, you know." Lydia said once she was sure Stiles had calmed down. She didn't let go of him just yet. "We can't let the world end. We'll fight this. Besides, I'm tired of having these kinds of things forced on me."

"What things?" Stiles asked, pulling his head back so he could look her in the eyes, though she kept her arms around his waist. There was something light in Stiles' voice now, as if he was ready to face the things that he was so afraid of.

"You know..." She said, a little smile playing at her lips. "Tethers. Fated. It's like everyone's forcing us to be together. I don't want that." She released him and took a step back, a refreshing smile now on her face.

"Well," Stiles chuckled, and one could easily see the relief on Lydia's face at his strengthened composure. "You don't have to listen to them. Who cares about fate, right?"

"Yeah, you're right." Lydia nodded, her voice low again. The smile faded. "Screw fate." She said, and then she started moving towards the door. "Get some sleep, Stiles. I'll borrow your jeep 'till tomorrow, if that's okay."

"Okay, Lydia." Stiles replied, looking a bit taken aback by her sudden decision to leave. "You get some sleep too, alright?" He said, smiling weakly at her.

"I'll try my best." She said, opening the door and starting on her way out. She stopped, then, and turned around to face Stiles one last time. "I want you to be a choice." She said, lips tight, speaking very matter-of-factly.

"What?" With an eyebrow perched, Stiles eyed her curiously.

"Fate can go screw itself. I don't care about any tethers. Whatever the world wants, it doesn't matter. I want you to be a choice, not an obligation. A good choice, I imagine." She smiled at him one last time before disappearing out of his room. As Stiles heard the jeep start up outside his house, he wondered how he was possibly going to fall asleep with those words echoing through his head.


	3. Strings

Sleep was a long lost friend that Stiles hadn't seen in a long time. Voluntary apnea, night terrors, never knowing if he was awake or not – they were all factors – the source of the problem wasn't really important to him. All he knew was that he barely knew what sleep was anymore. That had become his reality, the truth of his existence. His nights just stagnant hours, time lost and never to be found again. Sometimes he'd think. Sometimes he'd be empty. He wasn't sure what he preferred the most.

Sometimes he liked being alone. Sometimes, the nights where Malia didn't stay with him were the most peaceful ones. The feeling that his pain didn't have to be present for another to see, the idea that his fears were his fears alone – that was sometimes a reassuring feeling. 

And sometimes it sucked. Sometimes, the darkness flooded him from all sides and he'd think to himself that he was never going to be more alone than in those very moments. His chest crushed beneath the weight of all the shit he wasn't happy with, his head buried in self-deprecation, any notion of self-worth going up in flames – those nights were the worst. Those were the nights he saw Allison. The nights he saw Aiden.

And some nights, no matter how rare those nights were, all would be quiet. Peaceful. Not happy, but calm. He'd lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, already convinced that sleep wouldn't come for him, yet he was a lot less terrified than he'd usually be.

"A choice." He whispered against the air, his lips dry and his breath feeling cold in his throat. He couldn't stop letting those words grind through his head, as if he tried to find a sensible way to process it. He was over that. He had Malia, he was over that. Yet two sentences out of the mouth of a certain strawberry blonde genius was enough to jerk him back into thoughts he was sure had disappeared long ago. 

Right. As if Stiles Stilinski had forgotten the feeling of Lydia Martin's lips against his own. As if he'd forgotten how that was all it took to stop him from being afraid. No matter how much he'd try to deny it, Lydia Martin had turned out to be the one person in the world who made him feel safe. At least somewhere close to it. There wasn't really any way he could describe the feeling, but there was no denying that this night had been the least painful one in a long time. All because of Lydia Martin.

That didn't change the fact that the world was supposed to end though. And not in very long, either. That was certainly something that was on his mind, and it was sure as hell something that needed to be fixed. But for once in his lifetime, Stiles didn't have any notion of a plan. Kill the demon wolf dude? Impossible, probably. Convince the demon wolf dude that destroying everything was a bad idea? Yeah, not likely. Stiles could think of one option, one plausible thing to do in order to derail the coming of the apocalypse, but surprisingly enough he wasn't sure if he'd want to do that. Not unless he didn't have any other choice.

And then, his phone went off, stopping whatever weird thought was about to enter his brain next.

"Sup?" He practically groaned into the phone, rolling over on his side in the bed.

"Stiles," Lydia said from the other end, almost as if that in itself was a statement. It really was. Stiles' name was very often enough to put forth her point. "On a scale of one to ten, how much rest has your head and body gotten in the last six hours?"

"Body, I'd say eight. Tossing and turning a lot, but hey, I've been in bed." He said, a cheeky grin ever so apparent on his face. God, Lydia could literally hear his smile over the phone.

"Aha. And how about actual sleep?"

"That's a solid zero point five, Lydia." Stiles replied, and then there was a sudden silence. It was apparent that they'd both realized it in the same moment. As if they had both just noticed the sudden change in dynamic. It took a couple of moments before Lydia spoke up, obviously a bit taken aback, probably being prepared to give him an earful for being dishonest.

"Stiles... thank you."

"For what?"

"For being honest about it." Stiles could hear Lydia take a deep breath before continuing. "I mean, I'm in no way happy that you haven't slept, but at least you're honest."

"What about you?" Stiles suddenly asked, and he could hear that it caught Lydia by surprise, because her breath got hitched in her throat and she made an odd noise.

"Yeah." She whispered. "Yeah, no, I haven't gotten much sleep either."

"I'm sorry." Stiles said, and he didn't even realize he was saying it.

"Don't... be sorry, Stiles." Lydia remarked, almost a bit annoyed. "You know none of this is your fault. Remember?"

"Yeah... yeah, sorry, you're right." He sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. The conversation from the night before suddenly flooded his memory once again, and those words started to pound against his skull. He couldn't bring it up. "Hey, uhm... think I'm gonna go and fix myself some breakfast."

"Okay. I'll be over with the jeep later today. And Stiles?"

"Uh-huh?"

There was a pause. "Call me if you have anything on your mind, okay?"

"Same goes for you. See you, Lydia."

Lydia wasn't really sure what to do next. Where to go next. She felt like one unproductive day was one day of not trying to do anything about the upcoming apocalypse, and that just wouldn't do it. But she had no idea where to start. Come to think of it, they didn't have any semblance of a plan, whatsoever. But apparently, she wasn't the only one who worried, because pretty much right after she ended the call with Stiles, another incoming call appeared on her phone.

"Scott?"

"Hey, Lydia. Sorry to say this, but... we gotta figure this thing out."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"Good. Meet us at the clinic, I'll call Stiles-"

"No, that's alright, I'll go pick him up. I have his jeep. See you there." She said, and eager as she was to get working, she hung up and got dressed before Scott could even begin to ask what the hell she meant when she said she had Stiles' jeep.

On the way over to Stiles' house, Lydia couldn't stop thinking about the night before. About how she wasn't sure what she'd say to Stiles when she saw him. Lydia wasn't really one to dwell over thing she'd said, but okay, things had gotten a bit weird. Not between them, she didn't believe that, but for herself. She couldn't help but wonder why she said those things. Something stirred within her just from the thought of herself saying 'I love you' to Stiles Stilinski. She couldn't explain it. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

But she shook the the thoughts off her shoulders, because there were more important things to think about. More important things to take care of. She pulled into the Stilinski driveway not long after, making her way towards the door. She hadn't told Stiles she was coming.

She was about to ring the doorbell when she heard a commotion inside. It sounded like the sheriff. He didn't sound too happy.

"Dad, can you please just-"

"No!" Lydia put her ear against the door to hear better. She wasn't really an eavesdropper, but she couldn't help herself. "I'm not having this, Stiles!"

"It's okay, dad, you don't have to-"

"I almost lost you! Do you get that? I almost lost you, son. I can't- We can't do this again."

"There's no other choice, dad. If we don't do this, we'll lose everyone."

There was a silence, and by impulse, Lydia rang the doorbell. She could hear someone approaching the door, and it was Sheriff Stilinski who opened.

"Oh... hey, Lydia." He said, a wistful smile on his face.

"Hey." Lydia said back, more like a whisper. She softly bit her lip, looking worried and kind of sad. Apologetic, almost.

"You really gotta do this, huh? Stiles just told me what happened." He asked, slight reluctance in his voice as he spoke.

"Yeah... we really gotta do this." She nodded.

"Alright, then... I'll be right behind you. No objections from you, young lady. Stiles!" He called down the hallway. "Guess it's time we got to work."

Stiles came walking towards the door, and something settled on his face as he laid eyes on Lydia. Something Lydia couldn't quite make out. He smiled.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Like your dad said. We're going to work."

The drive over to the clinic was mostly quiet. Not really an uncomfortable quiet. Just quiet. Stiles had his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, and Lydia sat next to him, texting Scott that they were on their way. In the car behind them was the sheriff. After a while, Lydia grew tired of the silence.

"You sure you're good to drive?" She asked, looking over at Stiles.

"What, afraid I'm gonna fall asleep? Don't worry, it's fine." He retorted, small grin playing on his lips.

"If you say so." She sighed, turning her eyes back to the road in front of them.

When they arrived at the clinic, everyone else was already there. Scott, Malia, Kira and Deaton. They looked at Stiles and Lydia as they came in, Stiles' dad following suit. Both Scott and Malia had an odd look on their face as their eyes cast upon Stiles and Lydia, as if they were searching for something.

They didn't really have much time to talk before Deaton started speaking. He looked impatient, almost stressed, which was an unusual sight.

"Now, I never thought this was actually real." He opened with, motioning for everyone to come stand around the table to look at a book he had in front of him, obviously with myths from norse mythology. "But now that I know it is, we don't have much time. Let's cover the basics." He started talking them through it, and Stiles and Lydia nodded silently along, having read about much of it the night before. After a while, he entered the subject that was maybe the most important one. "The fated ones." He said, looking at the two who looked kind of uncomfortable. Everyone else just looked confused. They'd heard Fenrir say it, but they didn't know what it meant. Stiles and Lydia hadn't had time to fill them in.

Deaton continued. "The man and the wailing woman, according to the lore. Two individuals with a strong spiritual connection. A tether, like I've mentioned before. Now, tethers are not uncommon, but what you two have is something very special." Deaton murmured. It didn't cross his mind that it might be an odd subject, seeing as how he didn't really know Stiles and Malia were a thing. They didn't have time to avoid uncomfortable conversations either way.

"That guy... Fenrir, as you called him... he said it was visible. Could that mean anything?" Scott asked, looking at Deaton with a questioning gaze.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. And I suspect it's not something that only he can see. What you need to understand is, the tether you two share is not just any kind of tether. There is a culture that has a specific name for it... I'm sure some of you could figure it out just by looking."

"Looking?" Malia asked, furrowing her brows slightly.

"Like I said... I believe Fenrir is not the only one who can see it. You have animalistic senses. Use them. Focus." Deaton looked at Scott and Malia, and they looked back and forth at each other before nodding slightly. Almost simoultaneousy, their eyes changed color. Scott, a bright red, and Malia, ice blue.

They looked at Stiles and Lydia, who looked more than just a little uncomfortable with the entire situation. Malia gasped slightly, whereas Scott just kind of sighed.

"I've seen it before." He said, suddenly. "I just never really... thought much about it. Like it didn't register in my mind."

"It's like a... like a red..." Malia said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"A red... what?" Stiles asked, taking a step forward.

"Unmei no akai ito." Kira said, and as they looked towards her, they could see the golden hue burning in her eyes. "My parents told me about this. The red string of fate." She couldn't pry her eyes away from the two. She looked completely aghast. She had thought the tether Fenrir mentioned would be something invisible, like a blur in the air, but it wasn't that at all. It was a thin, bright red string, tied between Stiles and Lydia's pinky fingers. "I had no idea the myth was true."

"Some myths are... melted together. Like urban legends. We don't know much about tethers, but we know that there are many different interpretations of the phenomenon. The red string of fate is one. It has its origins from people like you. People with a tether visible to the supernatural eye. A red string, tied around your fingers."

At that, Lydia and Stiles lifted their hands and started looking, but of course, they couldn't see anything. God, sometimes Lydia just wished she could make her eyes glow, too. 

"To be honest, I thought maybe the whole tether thing was more of a... you know, like a metaphor, or something." Stiles said, seemingly uncomfortable as his eyes flickered between Lydia and Malia. This was all too strange.

"It's no metaphor. It's very real." Deaton smiled. "Now, we just need to figure out how we can use it against them."


End file.
